Snow White: An Unexpected Journey
by Toa Aerrow
Summary: In a castle on the cliffs of Shireland there lives a little princess. Working as a scullery maid for her stepmother, the Queen, she never expected her life to change. she just expected a normal life as a maid working for the monarch of her kingdom. Then, one day, she was approached by the most unlikely creature imaginable: A wizard. A wizard asking her to share in an adventure.


**Hello, readers! I'm Toa Aerrow, and welcome to Part 1 of Snow White and the Thirteen Dwarves!**

**This is an idea that I've thought of that I'm extremely surprised no one else on has thought of doing. This is a PlotFusion crossover of Disney's first animated feature and Peter Jackson's excellent adaption of J.R. 's first novel.**

**I have a lot of things to tell you, but you might as well read them for yourself, so, without further ado:**

**Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Toa Aerrow Presents<strong>

**Based on Peter Jackson's ****The Hobbit**

**And Disney's ****Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs**

**SNOW WHITE**

**Prologue: The Coming of the Dragon**

_My dear Rosie._

The old woman struck her match against the matchbox, lighting it, and lowered it towards her candle, sitting on its candle tray. Once lit, the wick glowed brightly, bathing the cobblestone walls of her bedroom in amber light.

_You asked me once if I'd told you everything there was to know about my adventures._

Picking up her light source, she walked out of the room in her dressing gown. She entered a corridor, on the walls of which were paintings, depicting many things, from vicious battles to portraits.

Exiting through a door on the left, she found herself in a small-ish room at the side of her home. This room had a warmer feeling than the bedroom, plated with oak wood planks. On one side was a desk, with a wooden board sitting at a slight angle to it, with a bottle of ink, a quill, and small clock and parchment sitting beside it. Glancing briefly at the window above her desk, she saw beyond it the green fields of her land beyond. But gazing out wasn't why she was here. Instead she walked to the right, coming up to an old wooden chest.

_And while I can honestly say I've told you the truth, I may not have told you all of it._

Opening the chest with one hand, she started to reach in, but paused as she saw the contents. Sitting on top of scrolls and maps was an elven sword, sitting in its scabbard. It didn't look like much from outside, but she knew better. That sword meant Gondolin to her, and it had saved her life on many an occasion.

Snapping out of her trance, she stopped reaching for it and instead pulled out something else from underneath it. A big, red leather book, as blank as if it were new, with the initials S.W. in dwarven lettering at the bottom. She smiled and tucked it under her spare arm and, without closing the chest, walked over to the desk and sat down, placing the book on the board.

She opened it, and, for the second time that dawn, her breath caught in her throat. She'd forgotten it was there. For sitting, flat against the paper on the first page, was the portrait of a young girl. She had a very pretty face, with round cheeks, a triangular chin, and large, cute eyes. She had thin eyebrows, thick lips, and a small nose. Her hair was thick and wavy, stopping just short of neck length, and topped with a ribbon-bound bow.

That was her.

_I'm old now, Rose. I'm not the same woman I once was._

The old woman smiled. She'd forgotten how pretty she once wa—No. She shooed those thoughts from her mind. It was someone thinking like that that threw her into the story to begin with. Just because of one lady's vanity, another's life was changed forever.

Turning to page two, she picked up her quill, dipped it into the ink, and hovered it over her paper. She wrote a little author's note, addressed to her granddaughter, then moved to the third page. She looked out the window again, thinking of how to begin.

_I think it is time for you to know what really happened._

Her mind made up, she placed her quill to the paper, and began to write.

_It began long ago, in a land far way to the east, the like of which you will not find in the world today._

_There was the city of Dale, its markets known far and wide, full of the bounties of vine and vale, peaceful and prosperous._

_For this city lay before the doors of the greatest Kingdom in Middle Earth:_

_Erebor. Stronghold of Thror, King under the mountain, mightiest of the dwarf lords._

_Thror ruled with utter surety, never doubting his house would endure, for his line lay secure in the lives of his son and grandson._

_Ah… Erebor, Rosie._

_Built deep within the mountain itself, the beauty of this fortress-city was legend._

_Its wealth lay in the earth, in precious gems hewn from rock, and in great seams of gold, running like rivers through stone. _

_The skill of the dwarves was unequalled, fashioning objects of great beauty out diamond, emerald, ruby and sapphire._

_Ever they delved deeper, down into the dark._

_And that is where they found it. The heart of the mountain._

_The Arkenstone._

_Thror named it the King's jewel. He took it as a sign, a sign that his right to rule was divine._

_All would pay homage to him, even the great Elven King, Thranduil._

_But the years of peace and plenty were not to last. Slowly the days turned sour, and the watchful nights closed in._

_Thror's love of gold had grown too fierce. A sickness had begun to grow within. It was a sickness of the mind. And where sickness thrives, bad things will follow._

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><p>Dragon-shaped kites flew in the wind, on a hot summer's day in Dale, a hundred and twenty years before. Children, with their parents, watched the paper creatures fly in wonder, imagining just what it must be like up there.<p>

The children paid no mind, but all adults in the town turned, confused, when they all began to hear a loud noise, greater than the high wind already blowing.

_The first they heard was a noise like a hurricane coming down from the north. The pines on the mountain creaked and cracked in the hot, dry wind._

Meanwhile, a kilometre or two north, the dwarven guards stood dutifully on the gates of Erebor, watching for anything that could pose a threat to them or Dale, their mutual allies and friends.

Amongst them walked one such dwarf. He had a round face, with a bulbous nose, thick, bushy eyebrows, and long bushy, grey-brown hair and beard. He looked around, confused at the now roaring wind, watching in alarm even as huge pines on the mountain cracked in two and fell off.

Guards began to run past, led by another dwarf, of whom everyone knew personally. For this one was royalty. With black, wavy hair, a short beard woven into a plait which was held by a small clasp, the dwarf's oval face was one that even dwarf males would find handsome. This was Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, prince under the mountain. All looked up to him, only looking further to his father and grandfather.

But now the young dwarf's eyes were filled with worry. He almost barrelled into the older dwarf as he ran past, turning to him as he realised you he was.

"Balin, sound the alarm!" he ordered, worry in his voice.

The wind picked up again, a gust mashing into the gates. Thorin and the other dwarf, Balin, ducked as a flag broke loose, sailing over their heads into the fortress.

"Call out the guard, do it now!" he yelled again.

"What is it?" Balin asked him, though he feared what the answer might be if even Thorin was scared.

The dwarf prince turned to his friend, and spoke the one word they had all been dreading in recent years.

"Dragon." He said.

Another gust blew, and the temperature of the air rose to searing temperatures. Thorin's worried eyes grew wide, now with downright fear, and he turned back and yelled down the dwarves and she-dwarves assembled in the courtyard.

"DRAGON!"

Balin turned to look back beyond the battlements just in time to see a fully-grown pine tree sail through the air away from the mountain, and saw, to his fear, that the whole thing was alight with flame.

_He was a Fire Drake from the north._

Balin backed up as he saw a great beast come roaring into view. It glared down at the battlements, then decided to sterilize it quickly. And that meant with a blast of flame.

Just in time, Thorin ran back out onto the gate and grabbed the old dwarf, dragging him behind a pillar as fire streamed from the Fire Drake's mouth.

_Smaug had come._

The children were startled as their dragon kites were scorched by flame, signalling the arrival of Smaug. The fire burned towards them, and they knew no more.

The dragon attacked the city of Dale, smashing its gates with one blast of fire, destroying its watch towers with one swipe of his claw. He pillaged the city, burning everything and everyone in it, out of nothing but a desire to cause harm. People, men and women, ran in fear, avoiding flames and rubble, but it was for nothing, as almost every one of them was destroyed. Some escaped. Very few. The rest, burned or crushed in the city of Dale. One of the last was a young girl, cowering as she watched her doll burn.

But one man stood up amongst the rest. He was Girion, Lord of Dale, and he would protect those who were left with his life. As townsfolk fled, he grabbed off of the weapons stand three black arrows, designed to pierce the tough hide of a dragon. Standing upon the last watchtower, he armed the arrows into a Dwarvish Windlance, and fired at the dragon. The first shot missed, as did the second. And then, as all hope fled, his last arrow struck the dragon. But it did no good. Smaug bathed the watchtower in his breath, and Girion, Lord of Dale, was no more.

The dragon smirked, satisfied with his work, then turned and flew back to his original destination.

_Such wanton death was dealt that day, for this city of men was nothing to Smaug._

_His eye was set on anther prize._

Thorin lead the Dwarf Guard as fire blasted the outside of the gate. The doors warped and bent inward from the force of the blast, letting flames flicker into the mountain.

_For dragons covet gold with a dark and fierce desire._

As the guard built up at the gates, the sick and gold-corrupted King under the mountain, Thror, ran as fast as his old legs could carry him to the throne. Above the stone-built chair, fixed into the column behind it, was the precious jewel, the white gem known as the Arkenstone. Thror pressed a button below it, and caught the gem as it fell from its position, holding it close as he turned to look to the army opposing the dragon.

The gates shattered, and the dwarves saw the Fire Drake looming over the mountain, landing on the bridge outside. Thorin shouted orders at the guard as the dragon finally smashed his way in. The dragon shattered the rock above the destroyed gate, sending fire and stone down onto the assembled dwarves. They scattered and ran as the dragon stomped through the newly enlarged opening, stomping on dwarf troops, throwing dwarves at the walls, not caring if any were left alive.

Thorin ducked and rolled out of the way as the dragon stepped down, narrowly avoiding being crushed by the massive foot of the dragon.

Thror ran down to the hall of gold, hoping to get there and claim at least some of his gold before the dragon got there. But it was too late. As he entered the room, Smaug leapt out at him, golden coins flying everywhere, and the King himself stumbled as the ground shook from the heavy lumbering of dragon and gold combined.

Then the King watched in horror as the Arkenstone slipped from his grasp.

"NO!"

He reached for it, but the white gem sank into the churning sea of gold coins.

Enraged, Thror stood up, determined to run in after the heart of the mountain at all costs.

Then Thorin, running in from the destroyed would-be battlefield of the former courtyard, grabbed his grandfather before he could make a drastic action. Stepping backwards as the dragon roared and slashed again, sending even more gold flying, he held his sword up to the dragon, stepping out of the room with his King and grandfather in his arms.

_Erebor was lost._

All dwarves, male and female, who were left, ran as fast as they could out the broken entrance to the mountain and across the bridge. They fled down the road, hoping to get as far from the mountain, their former home, as they could. Thror threw dwarves who attempted to help him off him, furious at Thorin and the dragon. Thorin himself helped his father, Thrain, who had been injured in the struggle, as he made his way out.

_For a dragon will guard his plunder as long as he lives._

Thorin finally let go of Thrain as his father waved him off, and began pleading and ordering his people to run.

Then, as he looked up to the hills beyond, to the west that lead to the Greenwood, an army finally arrived. They were Wood Elves, led by Elven King Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm. He ordered his army to stop, and looked down at the fleeing dwarves.

"HELP US!" Thorin yelled to them, waving for Thranduil's attention.

Thranduil turned his attention to the dwarf prince, then crooked his head to one side, as if considering his request. But finally, in the end, the Elven King turned and left, ordering his elves to follow him back to the Greenwood. They didn't even offer the dwarves shelter.

_Thranduil would not risk the lives of his kin against the wroth of the dragon._

_No help came from the elves that day…_

Thorin glared in fury up at where the elves had been mere moments before. The elves had just left them. Abandoned them to the wild. In the dwarf prince's mind, they'd just declared war on his people, and he would never, ever, forgive them.

_…nor any day since._

_Robbed of their homeland, the dwarves of Erebor wondered the wilderness. A once mighty people wrought low._

_The young dwarf prince took work where he could find it, labouring in the villages of men._

_But always he remembered the mountain smoke beneath the moon, the trees like torches blazing bright, for he had seen dragon fire in the sky, and a city turn to ash._

_And he never forgave._

_Ad he never forgot._

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><p>One hundred and twenty years later, the old woman looked up from her writing to the window again. She smiled. The dawn was over, and the sun had rose high above the horizon. Turning to look at the clock on the desk, she saw it was eight o'clock in the morning, and she smiled as she remembered Rosie would be waking up around now. She always was a night owl. Shaking her head, she turned her quill back to the book and wrote again, trailing the last vestiges of ink from the tip.<p>

_That, my dear Rosie, is where I come in._

_For by the jealousy of a queen, and the will of a wizard, fate decided I would become a part of this tale._

_It began… well, it began quite as you might expect:_

The woman stopped herself and thought for a moment. No, she couldn't start it like that. Too many stories started with that line. It was used for almost every fairy-tale she'd ever read.

But then she smiled. After all, this was, itself, a fairy-tale.

So she turned to a new page in her book, dipped her quill back into the ink, then set it back to paper and began to write.

_Once upon a time there lived a King and a Queen. They were of the benevolent sort, loved by their people, and caring of all. They lived in a castle in Eriador, ruling over the kingdom of Shireland in the western lands of Middle Earth, safe upon the high cliffs before the shore. They were safe, and they were happy. There was only one thing missing: an heir._

_One winter's night, the Queen looked up into the sky from her favourite balcony, and watched as a shooting star flew ahead. Upon that star she wished, she wished for a daughter, a girl with hair as black as the night where the star flew, lips as red as the blood flowing through her veins, and skin as white as the snow upon the rooftops._

_Nine months passed, and the Queen grew pregnant. They were both overjoyed at the news. But the stronger the baby grew, the weaker the Queen became. Then, one day, the baby came, and the Queen died. Looking down at his daughter, the King saw his wife's wish come true, and, in her honour, named the little princess Snow White._

_The King remarried after a few years, enchanted by a beautiful woman who appeared in town one day. Vellatrice. Little did he know that the enchantment was literal. The woman poisoned his mind, corrupting him, entrancing him with her potions, and eventually, marrying him._

_Then, all of a sudden, and to everyone's surprise, the King died. No one could figure out how or why. All everyone knew was that now Vellatrice was queen of Shireland, and she was, if anything, malevolent. She was a crueller queen than her deceased husband or the Queen before her, getting more out of her people than them._

_Vellatrice was vain as well as cruel. She wasn't so far as to be called narcissistic, but she was one of the most beautiful people in Middle Earth, and she knew it. Many times she spend in front of the magic mirror in her room, watching the face everyone looked up to._

_But there was one thing she feared. Being the stepmother of the princess Snow White, she saw and watched her grow every day, and every day she grew more and more adorable. At first she found it amusing, but then she began to fear. She feared that the little princess' beauty would one day surpass all others, including her own._

_In an attempt to forestall this, she dressed the princess in rags and forced her to work as one of the scullery maids of the castle, working in the kitchen and washing the steps every day, where she'd grow dirty with sweat and grime._

_Each day Queen Vellatrice consulted her magic mirror._

_"Magic mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?"_

_And as long as the mirror answered,_

_"You are the fairest one of all."_

_Snow White was safe from the queen's cruel jealousy._

_So every day went by, the Queen checking with her mirror, then getting on with her duties to the kingdom, as well as ruling over it. Meanwhile Snow White grew into her job as a maid, working with the job as she grew older and older. As she grew, her beauty greatened, as did her mind._

_She became good friends with the other maids of the castle, especially Elanor, a girl her age, with whom she joined in a friendship that would last all their lives. Sometimes, if they ever got free time, the two of them would walk down to the village nearby and watch the birds dancing in the air, flying around the castle, roosting in their nests._

_Snow White, while she loved it as much as Elanor, knew when enough was enough and they had to return to the castle. Elanor, however would always spend a few minutes extra down there. Sometimes she spent so much time that Queen Vellatrice herself would come down to the village, drag her sorry hide back to the castle and scold her for being late to return._

_She didn't approve of being late._

_Not that Snow White ever was. In those days she was always on time._

_She was entirely respectable in her job as a scullery maid…_

_And nothing unexpected ever happened._

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><p><strong>So, yeah, there we go!<strong>

**This story will be mostly in the world and story of Peter Jackson's The Hobbit, but instead of Bilbo it will have Snow, and instead of the story leading up to The Lord of the Rings it will close off with... well, you'll see when we get to The Battle of the Five Armies.**

**I'll probably not do another chapter in a while, as I'm going to be working on my other current story, The Terribles, but rest assured that I WILL go along with this one, my very first fairy-tale.**

**So yeah, I went all-out to create my own backstory for Snow, gave her stepmother a name, invented a character that'll only have a few brief appearances who's named after both Samwise Gamgee's daughter and my sister, and began a story that, I at least, will find most entertaining, and I hope you will too.**

**So, until next time, cheerio!**

**Next Time: Chapter 1: The Princess Maid**


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